


Hot Dudes Detectives

by grangerinvestigations



Series: Makeout Stakeout Agency [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grangerinvestigations/pseuds/grangerinvestigations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stilinski-Hale Investigations, we help the helpless!” Stiles chirped into the phone when it rang again.</p>
<p>“I knew you answered the phone like that when I’m not there,” Derek grumbled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Dudes Detectives

“Stilinski-Hale Investigations, we help the helpless!”

“Isn’t it Hale-Stilinski?” Scott asked over the phone.

“Technically, yes,” Stiles conceded. It was still a bit of a sore spot; Stilinski-Hale _obviously_ sounded better. “Derek’s not here, though, and I’m on phone duty, so there you have it. If I had known it was you, I probably would have made up something inappropriate and dick-related. Maybe a two dicks for the price of one deal. I don’t know, it needs some work. We really need caller ID.”

“And now _I_ need brain bleach,” Scott said. “What’s Derek doing? Actually working a case? I thought you guys just parked around town playing tonsil hockey now. Your dad should arrest you both. My _mom_ even saw you two.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling fan, which was whirling lazily the way all ceiling fans in private detectives’ offices should do. He was sitting at his huge wooden desk, which was covered in moisture rings and cigarette burns; he even had an ashtray where he lit cigarettes so he could immediately snuff them out. He had cultivated an _image_ , dammit, and he intended to stick to it, even if the open bag of Swedish fish, the framed photo of him and Derek  and the Oregon Trail game he’d started on his iPad didn’t _exactly_ mesh.

“We can multi-task,” Stiles said, biting into the delicious gummy fish. He planned on eating all of them before Derek got back, because he enjoyed his secret assholish victories. Also, Derek regularly ate all the pear Jelly Bellys, and he couldn’t let that stand without candy-related retaliation. It was the principle of the thing.

“Yeah, I don’t want to know about your creepy foreplay,” Scott said when Stiles told him about the candy revenge. “You two have always been gross and weird and now that sex is involved its even worse.”

“Don’t look down on our love, Scott,” Stiles said. “Derek and I are magic. We are fate. When we make sweet, sweet love the ghosts of Dashiell Hammett and John D. McDonald toast us with scotch and straighten the collars of their trench coats in solidarity.”

“None of that made any sense,” Scott replied, sounding both confused and horrified. “You know your life isn’t a black and white movie from the forties, right?”

“Dude, obviously, the guys back then weren’t as hot as Derek,” Stiles said. “Now, was there an actual reason that you called or are you just confirming poker night?”

“We don’t play poker, Stiles, we play Call of Duty and Mario Kart.”

“Yes, but poker befits a private eye, and makes me sound more manly. So we’re still on for _poker_ _night_ on Thursday, right?”

“Yes, we’re still on,” Scott confirmed, “but that’s not actually why I called. I’ve got a job for you.”

“Seriously?” Stiles sat up straighter in his chair. His friends sadly never had jobs for them; it seemed being werewolves, hunters and generally competent strawberry blondes made them capable of solving all of their own problems. Spoilsports.

“There’s something weird going on at work,” Scott explained. “We don’t normally have cameras at the vet’s, obviously, but we’ve been noticing some of the animals have been out of their cages in the morning, or have switched cages or just generally not been where they’re supposed to be. So Alan set up a camera a few nights ago, but something wiped it.”

Stiles stroked his chin and tried to look intrigued, even though he knew Scott couldn’t see his Serious Professional Face. “Interesting.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Anyway, Alan’s going out of town and Allison will kill me if I leave her alone with Sarah all night, because she is teething and _does not sleep_ , sweet Lord. So neither of us can really spend the night at the clinic. I suggested calling you and Derek and he agreed.”

“So you want us to stakeout Deaton’s?” Stiles asked. “Sure, we can do that. Tomorrow night okay?”

“Perfect!” Scott said, sighing in relief over the phone. “That would be really great, thank you. But don’t have sex in there. You know I’m really, really happy you two got your act together, but you _cannot_ have sex at the clinic.”

“Please, like I could do anything with all those judgmental felines watching me. I’ll clear it with Derek and we’ll be over at closing tomorrow. See you then!”

Stiles hung up and leaned back in his seat. He stretched his arms over his head, pleased to have something to do that didn’t involve infidelity, missing lawn ornaments or “runaway” teens who have taken their little emo asses to their friends’ houses for the night. This case promised cute kittens and definite sex on Scott’s desk, where said cute kittens wouldn’t be traumatized. Score all around.

“Stilinski-Hale Investigations, we help the helpless!” Stiles chirped into the phone when it rang again.

“I _knew_ you answered the phone like that when I’m not there,” Derek grumbled.

“Whoops,” Stiles said unrepentantly.

“I got the pictures we needed,” Derek said, deciding to ignore Stiles’ phone etiquette. The last thing he needed was to get sucked into another one of those “healthy discussions,” as Stiles called them.  “It took forever, but I probably would have missed them if you’d been with me.”

“I know I am very distracting, and vice versa,” Stiles said, tracing Derek’s face in his picture. What a sap he’d turned into. “I don’t want to do all these jobs separately, though. That’s not the point of Hot Dudes Detectives, Derek. The point is that we spend every waking moment together.”

“The point is making money,” Derek countered. “ _Which_ we can’t do if we’re sucking face, and do _not_ mention webcam porn to me again. It was just one job. We’ll interview Mr. and Mrs.  McCutcheon together tomorrow.”

“You said sucking face, I love it,” Stiles said. “I actually did get some paperwork done in between hunting buffalo and contracting dysentery, so I guess it was a good idea to split up for the day. Are you going home now? I’ll pick up something for dinner.”

“No veggie burgers.”

“Baby.”

Later, after a particularly energetic toast from the ghosts of detective writers, Stiles rolled over onto his back, slinging one ankle over Derek’s. “Oh my God, dude, where did you learn that?”

“You shouldn’t leave your porn tabs open,” Derek said, panting slightly. “Should I be worried that you’re still looking at porn?”

“Not when it’s this beneficial,” Stiles replied, shimmying even closer to Derek. “They’re mostly old, anyway; I rarely look at new stuff, just browse the old favorites from time to time. That one thing you did -”

“Must we rehash?” Derek said. “Can’t we just enjoy the moment?”

“I just want to make sure you know how much I really, really liked that,” Stiles said.

“I got that when you almost lost your voice shouting,” Derek said smugly.

Stiles pinched him. “Yeah, yeah, like you were bored. Oh, I almost forgot! Scott called today, he has a job for us.”

“Really?” Derek asked, lazily stroking Stiles’ side. “Do we need to find Sarah’s missing bottles or something? I swear, that baby has more hiding places than a magpie. It took me two hours to find my keys last time I babysat.”

“She’s so cute,” Stiles sighed, charmed by his goddaughter as always. “But no. Scott wants our specialty - stakeout time! Something weird is going on at Deaton’s, so we’re spending tomorrow night there.”

“Weirder than the two of them? Sounds intriguing.”

“That’s what I thought!” Stiles said, craning his neck to grin up at Derek. “Something about puppies getting out of their cages, I don’t know. As long as I can kiss all over you and some kitties, I’m good to go.”

“You’re not going to kiss me with cat breath, Stiles,” Derek huffed.

“Their tails stick straight up in the air, Derek, they’re adorable!” Stiles protested. “Come on, you have perpetual dog breath, and I kiss you all the time.” He slid up, dropping a kiss on Derek’s lips to prove the point.

“I don’t have dog breath, jackass,” Derek said, kissing him back. “You tasted like Swedish Fish earlier, though, so you are a big fat traitor, and I _will_ remember that. What time do we have to be there tomorrow? We’re meeting the McCutcheons at two.”

“We should be finished with them in plenty of time; I told Scott we’d be over at six. This is perfect, Derek! Interviewing witnesses, staking out crime scenes! We are living the P.I. dream, handsome.”

X X X X

“Why is nothing happening, Derek?” Stiles whined. It was one o’clock in the morning; they’d been at the clinic since six and so far it was a bust. There were not nearly as many kittens as he’d been led to believe (when Scott reminded him it was a vet’s office, not a shelter, and they didn’t have that many overnight guests Stiles had kicked him in the shin) and Derek was not getting all up on him as much as he’d hoped. Something about “being professional for a change;” where was the fun in that? Besides, violating Scott’s office seemed almost _mandatory_. “I like stakeouts better when we’re kissing. Or before, when I could think about kissing you.”

“Feel free to think about it now,” Derek said. He was sitting on the couch in Scott’s office, legs stretched out in front of him and looking hotter than was really fair to Stiles’ sanity. If Stiles had been obsessed with Derek before, it was nothing to how he felt now they were actually together, now that he knew what Derek felt and tasted like.

“Derek,” Stiles whined. “Come on.”

“This room smells too much like Scott,” Derek said. “It’s killing the mood. Go play with that giant cat again. One of us should be in there anyway. Isn’t that where this so-called mystery is taking place? I bet Scott forgot to lock the cages a couple of nights or something.”

“Probably,” Stiles said. “It doesn’t explain the wiped video, though.”

“Power surge, maybe,” Derek said.

“Always with the most boring explanation,” Stiles complained. “A werewolf and a vaguely witchy dude work here, Derek. Surely there’s _some_ kind of supernatural explanation.”

“Scott’s baby brain is making him careless and Deaton probably just likes the idea of us wasting our entire night.”

“It’s a workable theory,” Stiles said. “Oh well, you’re right. I’m going to go make over that kitty again. Scott said he was a stray someone brought in with a broken leg. He’ll probably go to the shelter, Derek, unless-”

“We’re not getting a cat, Stiles,” Derek said flatly. “I don’t think that would be very private detective-y of us, do you?”

“Kinky Friedman liked cats,” Stiles said.

“What the hell, you just made that name up, that is _ludicrous_ ,” Derek said, still reclining on the couch. He had an open bag of cookies next to him, of course, and he waved one in Stiles’ direction, as if to protest his stupidity.

“Look it up, wolfboy,” Stiles said. “I’m going where I’m appreciated.” He stomped out of the room, taking some pleasure in slamming the door behind him, even if it wasn’t the smartest thing to do if they were hoping to lay some kind of trap. Whatever. That cat was going home with them. He was huge, fluffy and yellow, and had gold eyes and he was going to name him Sam Spade. Maybe Poirot. Sherlock? No, definitely Sam Spade. Maybe he’d even let Sam sleep with them when -

“Holy _shit_ ,” Stiles breathed, looking through the window on the kennel door. Sam Spade was marching around the room, using his paw to unlock all the cages like a furry little lockpick. He watched as the dogs and cats climbed out of their cages, seemingly unconcerned with where they were. Sam watched them all, looking as content as possible before he twitched as if sensing another presence. The cat turned his head toward the door and Stiles ducked down, heart beating wildly as he hid from a fucking _feline_.

“What is it?” Derek said as he slid down onto the floor next to Stiles, no doubt alerted by his heartbeat. “What’s wrong? Did you see something?”

“Yeah, mother-fucking _Crookshanks_ ,” Stiles said wonderingly. “That cat’s a goddamn kneazle. I swear to God.”

“Stiles, you scared me to death!” Derek hissed. “I thought you were having a heart attack! What are you babbling about?”

“It’s that cat!” Stiles insisted. “Take a peek for yourself! He let the others out of their cages and he’s directing them like a freaking general. He’s a kneazle, I am not kidding!”

“ _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ is not an _actual_ bestiary, Stiles!” Derek protested, but he stood up and peeked through the window. He sucked in a breath before crouching down again. “Yeah, that cat’s a kneazle.”

“Told you!” Stiles crowed. “Do you realize what this means, Derek? Harry Potter is real, I knew it!”

“That’s not what it means,” Derek scoffed. “Although if the cat’s magical, it could explain the wiped tape. At the very least, it bears some research.”

“I love you and I love everything about our life,” Stiles said, pulling Derek in for a kiss. “I am engaged to a werewolf and we just discovered a _kneazle_. This _rules_.” He gave Derek the blinding grin he reserved for his happiest moments; okay, basically every time he smiled at Derek, but still, this was special. What next, hippogriffs? _Dragons_? That actually might be problematic.

"What should we tell Deaton?" Derek asked. "I don't think he's dangerous, just mischievous. Maybe he can train him to help out around the clinic. He'd be at least much help as Scott." Derek laughed at his own joke and dragged Stiles in for another kiss. "It doesn't smell as much like Scott or Deaton here. We solved the case, do you want to-"

"Ugh, of course I do!" Stiles said. "I bet Sam can hear us though, and that is squicky. My dreams of defiling Scott's office will have to wait. Take me home and ravish me. We need to be up bright and early so we can stop at PetSmart before we come back here."

"Stiles, we can not have a pet kneazle, for the love of God," Derek said in a tone of voice that said he knew he was already going to lose the argument.

"That's the only kind of pet we can have!" Stiles replied. "There will never be a cooler cat in the history of the world and I must have him. Come on, Derek, he totally liked me!"

"Fine, but I get to name him," Derek said wearily.

"Sure you do, Derek, sure you do."  

  
  



End file.
